


no more calling like a crow

by homeschoolvaledictorian



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 02:14:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1492963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homeschoolvaledictorian/pseuds/homeschoolvaledictorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a fox and there is a boy, and then there is only a boy.</p>
<p>(It's a different boy.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	no more calling like a crow

There is a fox and there is a boy. They are standing in the same places they have stood every night.

_You know,_ the dark fox says, _the reason I chose you?_

_No,_ the boy replies. _And I don’t care. My friends are coming for me, and they’re going to kill you._

The fox snickers, entwines itself through his legs. _So you say. So you keep saying. So sure, are you?_

His legs are lead. His arms are swinging by his sides, gravity pulsing down the tips of his fingers and under his toes. Some force of nature weighs on the boy’s shoulders, sinks into the soil beneath his feet. It’s always the same clearing; the Nemeton sprawls before him. Spotlights burn the boy’s eyes, but he knows better than to run into the woods. He looks down instead.

The fox sits between his legs, ever patient. Catching his gaze, it hums and detaches itself from him. It bounds forward, wisps of star-dark fur trailing behind it. The boy—oh, if he had a name—is sick to discover how unsteady he feels without it.

_What are you without me, hmm?_ it rasps. Its form flows like smoke around the tree stump, on top of it, so surreal that the boy feels the edges of the dream in his peripheral vision. He shuts his eyes, reaching for it. Before he could get far, a frost-like sensation creeps up his spine, deadening his limbs and paralyzing his thoughts.

Even with eyes closed, the nameless boy hears the sharp-toothed smile in the fox’s voice. _Oh no, this won’t do,_ it chides mockingly. _You haven’t even seen the best part yet._ It pries his eyes open, riveting them center stage. There sits the fox on its throne, ever patiently unwinding itself.

The shadow lengthens, straightens and slumps into human form. The boy stands rigidly in the dark field, the door at his back. The urge to turn and run is an itch in his frozen bones, but the thought of the woods nail his feet to the ground.

In the dark, swirling mass of a face, twin points of searing amber lock onto his own eyes. The pinpricks narrow into a smirk.

The clearing explodes in light. It is a hurricane of power, dangerous but confined, sluicing burnt orange off condensed shadow. It scalds the boy’s eyes. Suddenly able to move, the boy stumbles inexplicably forward, falls to his hands and knees. When his eyes blink away the light, the shadow figure is smiling at him from beneath the boy’s own face. The other boy—shadow-boy—steps off the tree stump and crouches down. His hands are surprisingly gently, carding long fingers through the boy’s hair.

And just as suddenly, those fingers are everywhere—he yanks the boy’s head up, cradles his face. Cold thumbs over his cheeks. _Tell me, what do you have, right now? Not before, not after, **this moment now?**_

The boy thinks a moment. _A tree,_ he says. _I have a tree._

The shadow-boy smiles. _No, **I** have a tree. You have nothing. What you don’t understand_ —here he hauled the boy to his feet— _is that I have everything._

The shadow-boy’s body parallels his body, one hand curled possessively around the back of the boy’s neck. This close, heads bent together, the boy can better see the minute differences between them. The shadow-boy’s eyes—ever patient, ever a fox—are brighter, gleaming wide. There are purple smudges beneath them. His skin is dead white and feels like winter. His smile is much more reserved now, almost private. His voice is sincere, is absolute. _I have everything. I have **you.**_

The boy shakes his head, or thinks he does. But the cold from the shadow-boy’s touch is sinking into his bones. Weary of standing for so long, the boy falls to the ground. The shadow-boy—ever gentle—catches him, cradles his head again. _Go to sleep,_ it whispers. _You are mine, and it is time for you to sleep._

There is a fox and there is a boy, and then there is only a boy.

(It’s a different boy.)

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf or any of its characters. I wrote this for Stiles's birthday on the eighth of April, so happy birthday Stiles Stilinski, you beautiful cupcake of a person.


End file.
